


i can feel it in my soul (and it's hurts like hell)

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Kuroo, Kuroo Tetsurou's Birthday, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "to love is to learn, and to learn is to desire what it's like to love."





	i can feel it in my soul (and it's hurts like hell)

**Author's Note:**

> oh my.... well than, hbd KUROOO

The favorite thing Kuroo loved to paint was the sunset. It reminded him of his emotions. Each color symbolizes each dreading feeling, starting with orange. The warm fuzzy harmless colors that tended to swarm on sunny days. He would sit in the parlor room, where the rays of sunshine would shine to it’s heart’s content. The room brought out daffodils in the meadow fields that were right next to his hometown. Settle fertile pigment for a careless afternoon. 

Then comes the salmon pink layer above the cadmium yellow, he admired the lazy tenacious shade for it’s erotic sense. There were so many hidden memories, lazy mornings in bed, hand and hand. All Kuroo could think was  _ more… more.. Give me more.   _ It always left something desirable after he used the color, with a stroke, Kuroo painted the nectarines on the kitchen table, laying in the opaque dish bowl. He sometimes hated pink, it was too hard to get the soft voluminous richness right. On late nights, he would strain to combine the saltiness of the sea and brittle sand of the beach into one hue. After that, it mixed all together like a blush, two people who once loved each other-in another life.

One where he wasn’t constantly surrounded by haunting colors that trigger nostalgia every turn and step that he takes. He couldn’t sit around in an empty house, too many things reminded him of dark gorgeous eyes and a firm smile. Cyan blue tinted at the end of the canvas, of the cold nights that he would spend, sitting at the balcony, hearty cups of hot chocolate and hunger sweet kisses.

_ They were sitting late after everyone had left the art exhibit, their ties were loose, and buttons were popped open. Kuroo leaned against the railing, he was proud, multiple buyers that been interested in several of his pieces. Most of them raved, with their expensive Louis vuitton suits and red wine drinks, giving him flushed cheeks and business cards. He took as it promise, despise the arm hugging of a few. But that’s how business went, and it’s all that mattered. _

_ "Thirsty?” a voice said behind, and he turns around, Daichi stood. He offered him a cup and Kuroo took it gratefully. _

  
_ He takes a sip, letting the subtle flavors wash over his taste buds. Kuroo grins, giving him a surprise look. _

_ “Is there vodka in this?” he asks, and Daichi takes a sip for himself, then gives a sigh, happily content with the alcohol in it. _

_ “It’s been a long day.” and Kuroo laughs, and focuses back to the scenery. He could hear the music miles away from him, a concert downtown. He twirls the rusted paintbrush in his hand, rolling it in his palm before tucking it into his jean pocket. _

_ “The buyers loved your work.” Daichi said proudly, running his hands through his hair, feeling his soft hair. _

_ “Thanks I know, hearing it from you.” he teases, kissing his hand slyly. Daichi dips his head , turning the other way and takes a sip to create a pause. _

_ Kuroo looks at the sky, seeing it’s dark, aggressive storm. He imagines taking his fingers and finger painting the night, small specks of cobalt, prussian blue, to create a beautiful smile. One that speaks to him, so elegantly. A calm before the storm. _

_ “It’s pretty, out there.” he says, and Kuroo looks at him a moment before speaking again. The moon contrasting against the pupils, dilating them, going smaller and smaller. _

_ “Yah, it is.” _

_ But not as pretty as you, he thought to himself. _

 

The last color of the spectrum when it came to painting was violet, he ruefully despised that color. It made him fear, the past, the present, the future. Magenta was not the color of love, it was the color of hate. Hate so true it made him go cross. It was beautiful in it’s flashy and mysterious ways but in depth, it was an ugly color making its mark on the canvas that he painted on. Weaved its way into him. 

Things he drew were purple, periwinkle flowers on a spring day. He liked to sit on the bench and draw the purple leaves torment him. It used to not torture him, he used to appreciate it’s eros beauty. Scandalous and sacred, so many secrets in a color. Pity.

 

 

**_________________________________**

  
  


 

Kuroo actually lied, his favorite thing wasn’t the sunset, why would he paint something that only brings him pain? It was  Sawamura, he would never tell him that, or never did-(past tense). On nights on end, he would simply sketch or doodle his face. He found his face the most intriguing, he never knew why. There was the simple contour, his jawline cut hard and sharp, able to slice through anything, including Kuroo’s heart it seemed. 

His eyes, they were the star of his dreams. Brown they were, but it was never was to him. Hazel, chocolate with bits of caramel. One day he swore they turned so dark, it became black. All earthy and welcoming, calm and not hasty. He fell in love with them, once they first kissed, squeezed shut as they’re lips that sealed in one. As soon as he had opened them, they looked like small waterfalls mixed with the dirt that rose from the ground. Second when Kuroo first made love to Daichi, sweat and moans splatters on white sheets being gripped. Oh lord, the sounds he had made, were even now so vivid in his ears, like an orchestra in a rising crescendo.

His body would glisten like an angel in the morning, Kuroo would rise up early to go into the drawing room, and catch himself staring at him.

 

_ Kuroo yawned, scratching his body, letting his limbs loosen themselves. He observes the surrounds him, a peaceful breath takes small snores. He reminds himself to tease him about his snoring problem when he wakes up. In the distance, lies the charcoal drawing he was working on, on the desktop table near the tv. _

_ Beside him, something rustles but doesn’t stir completely. The covers are lifted slightly, exposing his chest, and giving him a peek of his hip bones, ad as Kuroo moves once more, they fall. _

_ He doesn’t think he’s never seen anything more ethereal right now. His body is glowing in the light, giving off the leftover heat from last night. He sits back, and enjoys the view, Kuroo comes closer. Daichi’s eyelashes flutter like a hummingbird, so many black eyelashes. He carefully touches his cheek, caressing the warm skin. Such beauty in the most plainest eyes, would think this. But not Kuroo, he took his time to note every detail and feature that came with him.  _

_ He stirs, and Kuroo jumps back startled. One eye opens, making his heart melt. _

_ “Don’t stare at me, Tetsurou.” his voice raspy, and Kuroo stands up immediately.   _

_ “Good morning sunshine.” _

 

**_________________________________**

 

 

He doesn’t even remember what the fight was about. Something stupid he was sure, unless it was riled from a buyer that made a move on him. Surely that’s what was. 

_ “I need some space Kuroo.” _

_ “Give me time.” _

How time was such a precious waste. For weeks, he would stay cooped up in his apartment, drunk, bottles of tequila and beer broken on the floor. A cigarette would often hang in his mouth, tasteless and foul. The brush would lay limply in his hand, his wrist would be welted and red. The floors shattered of broken hearts, ruined sketches.

Sawamura, Sawamura was all he could think about.

 

**_________________________________**

 

 

(he waits, and waits. He drifts more into his brain with each passing day.)

 

 

**_________________________________**

  
  


“Why don’t you find someone else?” Bokuto had suggested to him at the bar later in the evening. The rumbling echos of loud voices screeched in his head. Girls and guys chatted over drinks at the bar, giving him greedy looks every now and then. 

Turning 26 was a big deal.

“I can’t, he’s everywhere I go.” he says, taking a whiff of his drink and chugs it down.

(bokuto mumbles something along the lines of ‘slow it down buddy’.)

Art began to become a frustration for him, he grew restless over the time, his bed empty, no one there to greet the guests that crowded his apartment to witness his masterpiece.

Kuroo could never look at a paintbrush and a canvas the same way.

“You’ve moved on, now just actually move on.” Bokuto insists, slapping him on the back.

“I am.” and he hears a laugh, and abruptly turns, thinking it was him. The infectious laugh disappears and Kuroo slugs back down and slams the bottle down.

 

 

**_________________________________**

 

 

It’s midnight when he hears the knock on the door, it was the middle of the night, his whole complex was no doubt asleep. He made sure not to trip on the paints that fell from the shelves, salmon pink and horrible horrible violet had spilled from their tubes. 

_ Maybe it’s a sign. _

He opens the door, and it’s the sunset in deja vu. He wants to stroke this moment with oil, add some gold, some black or if he’s really in the mood then gray, the storm has now passed by. He feels light, and airy. Unless that was him suffering a stroke.

“Sawamura.” he couldn’t stop himself from saying that name, it slipped from the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t seem angry, instead rather relieved-Hopeful even.

 

“Happy Birthday.” 

 

**_________________________________**

 

 

He soon learns to appreciate the hidden beauty behind the sunset.

 

 


End file.
